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Luhrenloup's Arcanum





By



Lorraine Saint Pierre











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DEATH


- XIII -





Death is a skeleton in a black cloak that neither beckons, nor entices. For Reaper has already crawled inside, imbedded itself into the womb; a feral energy that in due course expands like a mushroom. The rooted fungus, passed from parent to child, waits patiently to sprout and decay from within. A body exudes subtle odors to indicate that fungi have begun its work of turning matter to soil.

Also rooted in humans is the belief that stasis is attainable. Laying claim to the land, to the children, even the deceitful body, one learns through pain that very little can be grasped firmly. In the distance a red sun bleeds into the stream, reflecting its vivid color at zenith then washing out to pink like the skies above. It's the shadowy time of evening when the mind is oppressed with foreboding. Skeletal hands maneuver the long bladed sickle towards what's been cherished, leaving behind a void.

The awkward body tries to hide from this emptiness and the knowledge of its complicity in unleashing Death. Ready to join in the dance of dying, a silent heart bleeds into the night, the hand opens releasing its grip at life. Overshadowing the grim figure with sickle is a large, perfectly formed white rose; it signals the path of transcendence.















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